#modern!micah

[og-doeiika]

More Micah Hell Server drawings

[dissectress]

creep

[omgwhatchloe]

MODERN AU GANG MEMBERS IF THEY WENT VIRAL/WERE KNOWN ONLINE

-dutch should be cancelled but people genuinely think he is crazy so they dont bother. he is used for reaction videos, memes and one of his videos was even on the news when they were discussing banning social media. everyone has given up trying to tell him the entire world is laughing at him and thinks hes crazy.

-johns entire social media used to flop until he got his scars. now all he does is try to prove his scars are real (like that one account from 2022). he hasnt realised yet all the comments are taking the piss out of him, a doctor account proved they were real months ago but he never saw that.

-arthur went viral once when he posted a video of charles and his dog. he hated the notifications and found the comments about his and charles relationship incredibly corny and annoying. he never posted again.

-sean has so many followers because hes always just filming hashtagless videos of him breaking into places, in random countries, screaming in the middle of restaurants, ‘adopting’ wild animals etc etc. lenny is also regularly featured on his account as his boyfriend.

-micah went viral BECAUSE he was getting cancelled in his early 20s. everyone knew his face, he literally could not go anywhere or do anything. he has never posted since. no one can post micah on their accounts either, not that theyd want too.

-hosea is a facebook king. his tiktok account is literally user79286160 and comments on all sean and johns posts. his comments are always at the bottom and go completely unnoticed.

-tilly was an iconic tiktoker and YouTuber who posted vlogs, motivations, outfits etc who got cancelled because she made a huge mistake exposing the wrong person, thinking she was exposing a hater. like, she almost ruined their lives and didnt know what to do, almost got a lawsuit. she ate too hard😔🙏

-lenny barely posts but when he does its the most weird shit. like just a silent, hashtagless picture from his camera roll that slowly zooms out. him walking down the street for 10 minutes. him doing filters. the gang constantly ask him why he posts what he does, and they havent got a straight answer yet.

-mary-beth is a tumblr and pinterest girlie, she has the most followers there and her tiktok account is slowly growing. shes known for being in a lot of fandoms, and making a lot of trends for them. her instragram is also aesthetic.

-javier posts music mostly on youtube and tiktok, but also tries to back dutch up in his videos. people think hes joking. he “collabed” with john (ppl dont realise they are best friends) and that went viral.

[abovesn4kes]

More 1999 AU Content

[miguel-owhora]

on another note, i think arthur likes his partners to be fat. or chubby, or just have some solid weight on them. it's why he likes micah so much; arthur likes waking up in the morning to his sleeping partner, all naked and bare for him to admire, and grab him with his paws and just fondle his fat, so blissed out of his mind.

[cryptidcr3ature]

Modern Au RDR2 Headcannons (Arthur, John, Charles, Mary-Beth, and Micah.)

Arthur:

TikTok icon. He has a nature survival account, but most of his followers just think he’s funny. He’s got like 500k followers and they quote his quips DAILY.

Zach Bryan and Noah Kahan fanboy.

Starts twitter beefs. He’s on his third account because how often he’s been banned.

Drives a classic car and talks to it like a person. You treat her (the car) with respect.

He’s a safe person to hold your drink at a party.

John:

Cracked phone screen that he refuses to fix.

Goes to the AITA subreddit every time he gets into an argument.

Listens to underground folk punk and massively judged you if you don’t listen. Like “You don’t listen to Sister Wife Sex Strike! Have you ever heard music?”

Posts one good picture on instagram and the rest are stupid stolen memes.

Takes .5 pictures of all his friends.

Charles:

World’s slowest typer. Takes him 30 minutes to type a sentence.

Almost no social media presence. He got facebook to keep contact with Arthur and has never even posted on his page.

Wears headphones EVERYWHERE and gets mad when people try to talk over the headphones.

Big fan of slow, sad music but also has a guilty pleasure of Pierce The Veil.

Hoodie central. He’s the guy with a million hoodies and will share if necessary.

Mary-Beth:

Prolific fan fiction writer. Girl would literally write on a Samsung smart fridge if she had to.

Cries at movies no matter how sad they are.

Collects scented candles. Her room is a fire hazard.

Lana Del Ray and Taylor Swift enjoyer.

Tutors kids at the library.

Micah:

Also frequently on the AITA subreddit and calls people soft when they comment YTA.

Has a dude bro podcast where he calls himself an alpha male.

Body shames women on TikTok and claims he’s “looking out for their health.”

Listens to bro country.

Religiously watches Logan and Jake Paul.

[esquilone]

Bad Timing, Babe

RDR2 | Micah Bell X F! Reader

❤︎ Summary: Your shift is over, and as always, Micah is there to pick you up. But this time, he doesn’t just wait outside—he comes looking for you. The first hours morning feels normal until something unexpected happens. You freeze in place, realizing what just occurred, and Micah notices immediately. His reaction is… well, very Micah. What starts as an uncomfortable situation turns into something else entirely when you both get home.

❤︎ Tags genre: Mentions of menstrual blood, mild anxiety, alcohol, drinkers, light angst, blo0d, teasing, emotional comfort, rough affection, slaps and pains, dominant Micah Bell, modern AU, asphyxiation, established relationship, implied smut, piv, tension, rough handling, suggestive themes, accident, comfort, hurtcomfort,teasing , motorcycle, readerInsert, emotionaltension, vulnerability, fainting , anxiety, crying, softMicah (kind of).

🚨 CONTENT EXTREME WARNING: Mention blood, Explicit sexual content, Breathplay, Intense power dynamics, Strong language, Potential psychological discomfort. AVOID IT IF IT BOTHERS YOU.

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Author notes: I as an author am completely aware of how different this can be for some people, but I have always had an interest in my interior about things like this in this period of the female body, I believe that other women become more sensitive at this time and even painful always need to relax and feel pleasure. Please, if you don't like this type of content, just avoid reading it so you don't feel bad. I hope you like it and enjoy this little...gift? Dedicated to Micah Bell's (the mouse) fangirls 🐁, if you can like or republish the post, so I'll know you'll have liked it and then I can create more of these.

Saturday’s early morning was cold and dark, but the smell of gasoline and the flashing neon signs gave the city a vibrant energy. The modern city’s buzz didn’t change Micah’s mood one bit—he was a predator in a world full of prey, impatient and bad-tempered. And you? You were the only one he didn’t devour right away. He only played with you… waiting for the right moment to eat you up.

And you know exactly what kind of eating we’re talking about…

He should have been waiting by his motorcycle like always, leaning against it, cigarette at the corner of his mouth, looking at his watch with boredom until you showed up. But not today. Today, he went to get you in the alley you always walked through before meeting him.

You stepped out of work, feeling the cold wind against your legs. The gray skirt that was part of your uniform was flawless, matching the rest of the professional look your boss required. Elegant, formal… but still short enough to catch some attention.

And Micah noticed.

You saw him before he even spoke. He was leaning against the alley wall, one foot propped behind him, black leather jacket open just enough to show a silver chain hanging from his neck.

— Well, well… look who’s all dressed up today. — His voice was a husky whisper, dripping with mockery.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile.

— Why are you here? Did your bike break down? — you asked, walking toward him.

Micah smirked, that signature grin that never meant anything good.

— And miss the chance to see you all pretty before you hop on my bike? Not a fucking chance.

Before you could answer, he moved. In one swift motion, he grabbed you by the waist, trapping you against him.

The kiss came instantly.

One of his hands rested easily on your waist, the other stayed in his jacket pocket, like it didn’t take much effort to keep you there. His lips were warm, demanding, and the kiss had that bitter taste of cigarettes mixed with something purely him. His mustache tickled your skin, making you giggle.

You gripped his shoulders, feeling warmth spread through your body. But Micah always liked to play. He bit your lower lip, pulling it slightly before murmuring:

— You dress like this just to tease me, don’t you?

— I just got off work, idiot.

— So what? Can’t I enjoy the view? But good, now every client there knows this little piece of ass is mine. — He pulled his hand out of his pocket and smacked your ass, making you go red.

He laughed, his hand squeezing your waist lightly, a reminder that, if he wanted to, he could pull you even closer.

You sighed, his breath brushing against your face, making your nose itch. Then… you sneezed.

You turned your head quickly to the side, covering your mouth with your hand.

— S-Sorry — you mumbled, trying to regain composure.

But as soon as you rubbed your nose with the back of your hand and lowered it to fix your skirt that had ridden up a little, a chill ran down your spine. It wasn’t the cold. It wasn’t the wind.

It felt like something invisible had touched you, dragging over your skin, almost freezing…?

You froze in place.

Micah’s eyes narrowed. He raised an eyebrow, watching you with that sharp look of his, the one that noticed everything.

— Sugar pie…?

No answer.

Micah tilted his head, looking at you seriously, scanning your face with curiosity.

— What’s wrong? You just went stiff like a rock…

You didn’t answer. Shock was still running through your body, like your brain was trying to register what the hell had just happened.

Micah didn’t like being ignored.

He grabbed your chin with two fingers and turned your face toward him.

— Hey. Talk to me.

His tone wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either. It was firm, like he was saying don’t try to hide anything from me.

And you… you still didn’t know what to say. Because in that moment, as you stared into his blue eyes, even though your vision was slightly blurry, you couldn’t be sure.

The shock ran through you like an electric current. The discomfort came fast, followed by a sudden, warm, wet sensation. You shuddered, feeling liquid rush down way too fast, soaking your underwear, sliding down your thigh before you could react.

Your eyes widened.

No… not now.

Your face went up in flames, your heart pounded. The horror of being there, in the middle of the alley, with Micah looking at you, touching you, kissing you just moments ago… and now, your own body had betrayed you like this?

You curled up, instinctively pressing your legs together, hands gripping your skirt in a desperate attempt to hide the inevitable. Staring at nothing, like you were in a trance.

He noticed immediately.

That sharp, ever-watchful blue gaze of his flickered down to the ground, where your hands fidgeted restlessly—until something caught his eye:

Drops.

Small. Scarlet.

— The fuck… — He blinked, his expression hardening for a second. His entire body tensed.

The first thing Micah thought was that someone had done something to you.

The second was that you were hurt and hadn’t even realized it.

But then… his eyes trailed upward. Slowly. Following the streak of blood from the ground to the hem of your skirt, up to your thigh, where a thin red trail was again making its way downward.

It blinked.

His brow furrowed, his face twisted in mild annoyance, he took a deep breath and tilted his head, finally taking in your flushed face and the sheer mortification in your expression.

— Oh.

Flat. Dry.

You couldn’t look at him. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your eyes fixed on anything but him.

Micah ran his tongue over his teeth, clicked it against the roof of his mouth, and smirked—amused.

— Doll…are you making fun of my face?

You still couldn’t speak.

He let out a quiet snort, taking off his leather jacket at a slow, unbothered pace.

— Red Sea’s floodin’, and you didn’t even notice? You hearin’ me, woman?

You wanted to throw yourself into a hole. Instead, you just took the jacket he handed you and tied it around your waist, gripping the fabric tight to make sure nothing showed.

Micah huffed a chuckle.

— Alright, alright, let’s get the hell outta here before someone thinks I stabbed you or—hell, that somebody knocked over a bucket of food coloring.

He slung an arm over your shoulder and led you out of the alley. The walk back to your place was mostly quiet—except for the occasional giggle he let out whenever he saw you walking weird, trying to prevent any more accidents. You looked like you were in labor, with the way you breathed and shuffled, practically dragging yourself onto the motorcycle like you were in unbearable pain.

He even joked about how lucky you were that the bike was black—so no one would see blood on the seat if it happened.

But it was when you finally reached your building—climbing up the brick stairs to the black door—that he completely lost it.

— Oh, for love’a Christ, sweetheart, you look like you just walked outta a damn horror movie… — He clutched his stomach, leaning back as laughter boomed from his chest. — Waddlin’ like a damn pregnant cow that just gave birth, doll! This is ridiculous!

You turned your head and shot him a murderous glare.

— Shut up, Micah!

— Hah! Can’t! This is a goddamn mess!

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching you climb them like you were stepping on glass, his jacket still covering your skirt, your face red with effort and humiliation.

On the porch, a few plants dangled from their pots, vines climbed up the iron railings, and in the corner, an ashtray with old cigarette butts and a skull-shaped beer glass sat abandoned on the table. How long had he left that there?!

Micah slowly made his way up, his laughter dying down to a lazy smirk. With no effort, he reached behind you, grabbing the handle and the lock, pushing the door open without hesitation.

You practically bolted inside, wanting to disappear on the spot.

He was still chuckling as he followed you in.

Micah strolled into the living room, turning on the TV without even looking at what was on. You, on the other hand, were already stripping—ripping off your uniform, panties, bra, and stockings—rushing to toss everything in the washing machine and get into actual clean clothes. Now rummaging through the drawers, looking for wet wipes and a towel to clean yourself up.

Micah threw himself onto the couch, waiting for the next episode of your humiliation.

And, of course, ready to tease you for the rest of the night.

The beer can cracked as Micah pulled the tab, bringing it to his lips without a hurry. The sound of the gas escaping blended with the TV’s background noise—whatever was playing, he wasn’t really paying attention.

He took a long sip, downing half the can at once. The cold liquid was a nice contrast against the warmth of his body.

Slowly, he set the can down on the coffee table, right next to his boot—still dusty from the streets—before unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper of his jeans, letting himself breathe. He threw his body back against the couch, relaxing like he had just finished a long day of work.

That was when, some time later, he heard your footsteps.

You walked into the living room in light aquamarine-blue pajamas—a color Micah seemed to like, though he never commented on it. Your hair was dry and silky, probably from the blow dryer you had just used, and you moved slowly toward the fridge, grabbing one of those mint-milk drinks and, right after, a bar of milk chocolate.

Micah watched your movements from the corner of his eye.

You came back to the living room and sat on the couch—but… farther away.

He noticed immediately.

Without changing his expression, he just shifted his gaze to the side, observing your posture. You were curled up, almost guarded, eating slowly.

Micah clicked his tongue, impatient.

— You avoidin’ me, doll?

You hesitated.

— No…

He kept staring at you from the corner of his eye, now throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

— Swear? (sarcasm) ‘Cause it sure looks like you are. Come ‘ere.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. But you were stubborn.

You didn’t move.

Micah raised a brow.

— Or am I gonna have to come get ya?

His tone made you sigh. Slowly and reluctantly, you scooted closer. But, of course, for him, that wasn’t enough.

He pulled you right onto his lap.

Your expression changed instantly. You didn’t actually want to cry, but you felt pouty and sulky, your face showing that little childish frustration that always made Micah laugh. But this time, he seemed annoyed.

— Aw, for fuck’s sake, look at that face. What is it now?

He ran a hand through your hair—but in that stiff, awkward way that was so him. You relaxed without even realizing it, eyes dropping, body growing heavier against his.

— The jacket didn’t get dirty… — you murmured.

Micah smirked.

— Good. — he muttered. — And even if it had, I’d still wear it…

Suddenly, he gave your thigh a firm squeeze. You flinched slightly, feeling his hand slide down your legs, massaging your feet.

The relief was instantaneous.

The bastard knew what he was doing.

You exhaled slowly, lips parting slightly as your body melted into his touch—like a cat—feeling those strong fingers pressing into the soft flesh, even with the slight roughness of your feet from work shoes.

But Micah didn’t stop there.

His hands slid up, gripping your thighs with that same bold possessiveness he always had. His fingers dragged along the elastic waistband of your shorts, tugging it aside.

You stared at him.

— Micah, stop.

He raised an eyebrow in fake innocence—and instead of stopping, he pinched your skin.

You squirmed.

— Ouch! Micah!

He grinned, amused, then slid the strap of your pajama top down, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. The scratch of his mustache against your skin made you laugh—even though you didn’t want to—made you shudder and wriggle again.

Micah chuckled too, only lower, rougher, the sound vibrating in his chest.

Then, suddenly, he pulled you higher, pressing you flush against him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck on reflex.

His mouth found your throat, nipping at your skin before murmuring, voice husky and dangerous:

— How ‘bout we… you know, Sugarpie… — he smirked against your skin. — I got no problem with a little blood, doll.

Micah’s kisses grew slower, deeper, his mouth exploring your skin with a mix of teasing and possession. You moaned against him, letting him continue, your body warm under his hands. But soon, you realized Micah was serious about wanting more.

His rough hands gripped your hips, his kisses trailing down to your chest, and he was already leaning you back against the couch, the back of his neck settling against your shoulder—positioning himself in a way that made it clear he had something planned.

Your heart raced.

You held your breath, lifted your torso slightly, hesitated, and with a voice shaky from pleasure, murmured:

— Micah… we can’t. I… I’m bleeding!

He tilted his head back, looking at you under the dim light. Fuck, he looked so good like that—his sharp blue eyes half-lidded as he studied you for a second.

Then, he laughed.

— And who said I care?

Your face burned.

— Micah…

He licked his lips, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

— If you wanna know, doll… — His voice dropped lower, eyes glinting with mischief. — I’ve thought about this a few times.

A shiver ran down your legs and up your neck.

Fuck, Micah…

His fingers slid over your skin again, tracing patterns that made your body react instantly.

— Wanna know what conclusion I came to? Hm?

You looked at him, unsure if you really wanted to hear the answer.

Micah smirked in that way—his way.

— That blood doesn’t bother me. On the contrary, I wanna see how this pretty pussy would look just like this.

Your face burned hotter. The idea seemed absurd, weird… even gross. You parted your lips, hesitating.

— M-Micah, this is… I don’t know, it feels weird. And kinda disgusting. And you’ve been drinking.

He raised his eyebrows and laughed—like your hesitation was amusing to him.

— Disgusting? Doll, you think I give a shit about a little blood?

His fingers traced slowly down your arms, unbuttoning the front of your pajama top. Your body reacted immediately—tiny, invisible goosebumps rising on your skin, your nipples hardening slightly against your soft, plush breasts.

— It’s not “a little blood,” Micah. — Your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming under the dim living room light.

— So what? You’re mine, my girl. — He grinned—that cruel, playful grin. — And I do whatever I want with what’s mine.

— Don’t think you can boss me around, Micah! — You snapped.

But he liked that.

— Oh, come on…

He pulled your top off your shoulders, groaning at the sight—your breasts looked fuller, your chest rising and falling with every breath. He wasted no time grabbing your wrists, pinning them beside your head, licking and sucking your tits, tugging at your nipples almost aggressively.

He wanted you desperate. And fuck, you knew it.

Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst out of your chest. You knew he talked like that just to rile you up, to watch you squirm, to leave you speechless. And yet…

He lifted his head, the sound of a wet pop filling the air, his lips now brushing along your jaw before moving to your ear.

— Besides… — His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. — Do you have any idea how fucking hard this makes me? Hm? Even more than seeing your pretty ass red from my spanks.

Your body stiffened.

— Micah…

He chuckled against your skin, fingers digging into your waist.

— What’s wrong, doll? Scared?

You were. And the worst part? He loved it. And maybe… maybe you did too—always so desperate for him, always wanting him exactly like this.

Micah stared at you, his gaze dark and intense. He tilted his head slightly, his lips still wet from earlier kisses.

— Take it off, doll. All of it. —Referring to the lower part that covered his legs.

Your body froze in pure pleasure for a moment, but you knew he wasn’t asking—Micah never asked. With trembling fingers, you pulled down the hem of your pajama pants along with your panties and pad. Fuck, this was so embarrassing. You felt his gaze burning into your exposed skin. The hesitation only made his smirk grow.

He moved closer again, hands sliding up your waist, pulling away the last remaining fabric until it fell to the floor. Your heart pounded as the cold leather of the couch pressed against your bare back.

Micah loomed over you, blond hair falling slightly over his face as he watched you. His eyes traveled over every inch of your body, his chest rising and falling slowly—like a predator preparing to pounce.

You squirmed slightly, biting your lip, a warm nervousness curling in your stomach. He noticed. And he liked it.

— What’s wrong, huh? — He chuckled low, fingers tracing the side of your body, sending a shiver through you. — You look like a sad little pup. But I know you’re faking…

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. You were anxious. A mix of anticipation and shame. But you wanted this. Wanted him.

Micah knew. And for once, he didn’t mock you for it. Instead, he lowered his head, pressing slow kisses to your shoulder, trailing down to your collarbone, then to the center of your chest.

— Relax, doll. — His voice was a deep purr against your skin.

He glanced to the side, scanning the couch cushions. Grabbing one, he slid it under your lower back, adjusting you so you’d be more comfortable.

Then he looked at you again.

— Ready?— That cocky smirk was still there, but there was something deeper in those blue eyes.

Ready!? Like you could ever be ready for this!

His hands trailed down your thighs, gripping them firmly as he kissed just below your belly button, feeling the heat of your skin under his lips. His mustache brushed against you lower, your swollen folds still hidden between your thighs. He spread them open like a steel clamp, the rough tickle of his facial hair making you shiver, even if you didn’t laugh. He knew you felt it.

The scent of iron grew stronger.

Micah lowered himself further, his warm breath between your legs. His tongue dragged slowly, exploring. The metallic taste mixed with the heat of your body. He licked again, without hesitation, as if he were tasting something rare. The slight saltiness, the sweetness of you—

He groaned, deep and satisfied.

— Mmmmp… You know I don’t mind getting messy, doll, — he murmured against your skin. — In fact… I think I like this too much.

His hands squeezed your thighs, thumbs pressing into your sensitive flesh. Micah showed no disgust, no hesitation. He loved it. The way he devoured you made it clear.

You couldn’t even speak from the overwhelming sensation, tried to say something, but barely managed:

— Mmmhp… M-Micah…! Oh… slower, please. It’s weird. — OH! T-This is… I don’t know…

He pretended not to hear you. He always did that—on purpose.

You moaned as if it was the first time he licked and sucked you. It wasn’t. But like this? While bleeding? It felt a million times more intense—painful and pleasurable—like a goddamn blood pact with him.

He laughed between your thighs, placing more kisses along them.

Short, gasping moans left you when his tongue dived between your folds again, slow kisses and obscene wet sounds filling the room.

— What if—ah—what if we make a mess on the couch?

You grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull him away, but instead, he buried his face in you, pressing against your clit hard.

A choked moan left your lips at the firm pressure.

He mumbled a “fuck it” between your legs.

Then, Micah lifted his head slowly from between your thighs, his eyes locking onto yours.

His blues were dark. Feral.

He looked at you like a wild animal—someone who owed nothing to anyone. His mouth was filthy, lips stained crimson, blood clinging to his mustache and the scruff along his jaw.

He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting you again. Your face burned.

Silence stretched between you.

Your eyes flickered down—to the blood, to the state of him. You pointed a teasing finger at his face, raising a brow.

Micah’s smirk widened.

— You like what you see, doll?

His laugh was deep, husky. He grabbed the back of your head, pulling your mouth to his. The metallic taste of your own blood mixed with the slow, dirty kiss, neither of you in a hurry to end it.

When he pulled away, his fingers slid down your waist.

— On all fours, Sugarpie. — It wasn’t a request.

You obeyed, lying on your stomach against the couch.

Then, he folded your knees, spreading your legs apart completely. Your eyes squeezed shut in shyness, feeling the warmth of your menstrual flow dripping between your thighs, streaking down onto the couch cushions.

Before you could even react, you heard the sound of his clothes hitting the floor.

His weight followed right after.

He chuckled and groaned softly, watching your hips sway ever so slightly from side to side. The dizziness of arousal clouded your mind. His large, calloused hands roamed your sides, spreading your cheeks apart to look at both of your holes—your cunt drenched in deep crimson.

Micah’s grip on you tightened, and you could practically hear his teeth grinding.

— You really are a little brat… — he groaned.

The air around you burned. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple, your fingers digging into the pillows in front of you, your pussy clenching around nothing. You needed to be fucked. Now.

Normally, he’d tease you, torture you just enough to see you cry, beg for it. But tonight, he seemed just as desperate as you—probably because of the days you two hadn’t been able to fuck.

Now, he only paused behind you to spread your pussy apart briefly with his thumb.

He grabbed a bottle of lube he’d left on the couch, squeezing it until the thick liquid dripped onto his dick. It smelled like cherry bubblegum. You hated that scent—but right now, you couldn’t care less.

You whimpered when he rubbed the tip against your clit.

— Impatient, huh? Be a good girl, Sugarpie…

A loud smack landed on your ass, burning like it always did. But you liked it.

Then he started to push in, his cock splitting you open. The stretch burned—that sharp sting when the fat head breached you, then the slow, agonizing slide deeper. You were so much more sensitive than usual, and Micah wasn’t helping.

He wasn’t insanely long, but fuck, he was thick. Wide. Heavy. Hot—like his broad chest pressed against your back.

If your cramps weren’t so bad, you’d be riding his fat cock right now, sinking down on him until you were sobbing on his chest. Or sprawled on his stomach, bouncing while his hands controlled your hips.

You’d give him that treat soon enough.

But right now, his cock sank into you all the way.

And fuck, you forgot you were even bleeding. But with that thick, girthy cock plugging your hole, it was like he was stopping the blood, keeping it inside you—making you feel less messy.

You moaned helplessly into the pillows.

Micah, however, was quiet behind you. One of his hands slid up your belly—higher—until he gripped your breast, making you arch into his hold. He kissed and bit at your shoulder, growling deep in his chest, possessive and hungry.

Then, in a split second, his cock was moving—pulling back and slamming forward.

You yelled in surprise.

You tried to move away, but his hands clamped down on your thighs, dragging you back. That fat cock pounded into you—fast, slow, fast, slow—stretching you open, stuffing you full.

— Feels like I just shoved my cock into a mashed berry pie… — he groaned, watching himself disappear inside you, coated in slick and crimson.

Your mind blanked.

Micah’s nails dug into your thighs, keeping them stretched open as he rutted into you, thrusts deep and relentless.

He was loud, fucking you from behind, watching the way you sobbed, gasped, took him without even trying to pull away.

— Mmmh, tighter than usual, Sugarpie… — he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. — Such a greedy little thing, sucking me in so good…

He laughed low, shutting his eyes tight, forcing himself not to cum too soon.

— M-Micah…! Mhmmnn—I need you to… to…

But before you could finish, he slammed into you, quick and deep—knocking the words from your throat.

Your head spun.

No one had ever done this to you before. Your thoughts swirled with both shame and blinding pleasure.

— S-stop! — you whispered. — W-wait a… just… oh—

Your body collapsed, trembling, melting into the couch as he ignored your pleas.

No cramps. No pain. Just his cock—his cock, his cock, his cock, his cock—

Your hands twitched, weakly pushing at him, but he didn’t like that.

His pace snapped faster, making you drool into the pillow, your mind shutting down.

Fuck. You were gone.

So you played his game.

Forced yourself to stop resisting.

And the moment you did, his grip on your hips loosened slightly. A deep hum of approval rumbled from his chest.

Your head dropped forward, forehead pressing into the cushions in complete submission.

Almost like you belonged there.

— Oh God, oh God, oh my God… — you babbled against the lined fabric, your legs shaking with the effort to close—but failing against his grip.

— I like it when you fight me, Sugar… — he drawled, grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back. His breath was hot against your spine as he pressed your legs open—to an almost painful degree. — But I’m gonna take what I want.

He slammed into you again, fucking in and out, in and out.

Your pussy was already numb—but pulsing for release.

You couldn’t form words anymore—just broken, stuttering syllables, your fingers pressing harder against your mouth, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you climbed toward a peak so intense it scared you.

Again, his cock slammed deep inside—your muscles locked—and then—

You saw stars.

Or you thought you would.

But your muffled moans died in your throat as you suddenly felt it—felt him—pull away.

Micah stopped.

Just like that.

Heavy breaths, sweat trickling down his forehead as he growled:

— Shit…

His body was still hot against yours, but the movement had ceased entirely.

You blinked, dazed, your voice trembling in shock:

— W-What the hell, Micah!!?

He threw his head back against the pillow, clearly frustrated.

Still hard.

He threw his head back into the pillow, clearly irritated. And still hard, his pink dick–in summer peach color, stained with his blood. He didn't even seem to care about that detail.

— Shit, Sugarpie, just sit the fuck down already, — he ordered, patting his lap, his belly—the soft, shameless beer gut he carried like a king.

You crossed your arms, your pussy still trembling—your whole body still trembling—as you narrowed your eyes.

— Y-you stopped on purpose, you fucking asshole!

His gaze cut through you—sharp—but the corner of his mouth curled into a taunting smirk.

— And now I want you to do the work… — he murmured, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you onto him. — Be a cowgirl for me, sweetheart.

The sweat between you made everything hotter—stickier—more unbearable.

More addictive.

So you sank back down on his cock, hands bracing against his belly.

And fuck, the stretch—

You let yourself relax around the thick, deep intrusion, getting used to just how far he was in this time.

His hands stroked possessively along your sides.

Then—when he started moving—you choked on the sensation.

He was reaching so deep, his balls slapping against you, his cock pushing into places you didn’t even know existed.

Micah groaned beneath you, bracing himself on the couch, watching as you lifted and sank onto him—slow at first, deliberate, the fat girth stretching you, filling you.

His skin was sticky with sweat, pressed flush against yours—the coarse hair on his chest brushing against your palms.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as pleasure coiled inside you again.

Your thighs tried to spread wider—but you were trapped between his strong legs, locked in place, unable to do anything except bounce and grind.

Then, as your pace slowed—your body shaking with pleasure, pausing to catch your breath—

Micah went silent.

Only the faint sound of the TV filled the room.

Then—

The second he felt you stop, he grabbed you by the waist, yanked you up off his cock—your blood dripping—and then slammed you back down in one hard thrust.

His fingers squeezed your breast—tight, possessive.

Your eyes snapped open, startled out of your trance.

— Oh… — you gasped. Then again— oh… ohhh…

Shocked.

Because the fire in your gut was reigniting—burning hotter, higher—so soon after the last high.

Micah’s rough fingers traced along your skin—slowly—dragging from your shoulder… up… up… to your neck.

He didn’t ask.

He never asked.

Just let his large, heated palm creep over your throat—tightening with a pressure that was all too familiar.

Your body reacted instantly.

Your chest heaved, breath cut off.

You gasped, eyes wide, locked onto his—while a slow grin spread across his face.

He loved this.

— Look at you… — his voice was low—almost a growl.

He tilted his head, watching—observing every little twitch of your body, the way your legs clenched around his waist.

His grip tightened—just a little.

Your mouth parted—desperate for air.

Micah only laughed, smug.

This didn’t happen every time, But when it did—he savored every second.

And you…? Deep down, you liked it too.

It only made you hungrier to cum on his cock.

But you couldn’t even think anymore—your mind already turning to mush as he fucked into you—harder, deeper, more.

The sensation of his body beneath you was overwhelming.

Too hot.

The thick scent of sweat, leather, cigarettes, and beer flooded your senses—mixing with the metallic taste still lingering in your mouth. Now, with your tits pressed against his chest, your arms gripping his broad shoulders, your brows furrowed in pleasure—he grunted, slamming up into you.

The kisses were messy, hungry, drenched in the animalistic fury only he possessed.

Micah held you firm, his rough, calloused hands gripping your waist like he was claiming you.

And he was.

Then, suddenly—he flipped you.

Easily.

Shoving you back onto the couch.

His eyes glowed in the dark—cold, unreadable.

The kisses didn’t stop—deeper, wilder.

Thank God, he hadn’t pulled out.

And then—

That pressure again.

His rough fingers slid back up—gripped your throat—squeezed.

Your world went white.

Your air—gone.

And in its place—came a wave of mind-numbing pleasure.

Your back arched—your hands shot up, gripping his wrists—your body trembled between panic and bliss.

Micah watched—his blue eyes locked onto yours—devouring every second.

Then—just like always—he knew exactly when to let go.

— I know how much you love this, Sugarpie… — he rasped. — Imagine how good it’ll feel when I fill you up…

He laughed—louder now.

Pity your neighbors.

— Micah… I… Mmhmmp—

Your whimpers only made him wilder.

One of his hands lifted your knee—hooking your leg over his shoulder.

You could barely think—couldn’t string words together—It felt so fucking good—

So damn good-

Your needy little “Mmmhmmp!” noises filled the room—

And for the first time in your life—

You’d never been more grateful to be bleeding. Not that you could think about that anymore.

Because the second your brain short-circuited. And your mind melted into nothing—

The only thing left was him.

You could feel yourself come, slow and gratifying, Micah above you groaning roughly as he held your thigh and the other over his shoulder. You felt the ropes of his cum spill inside you, pulling out of you. You gasped at the loss of contact between your bodies, your sensitivity making you shiver. He settled beside you, slipping an arm behind your neck. The heat of his body against yours was warm and dense, his muscles still rigid under his skin. The sound of the TV playing in the background, muffled, mixed with the distant noise of the city across the street. Your head rested on his chest now, feeling his heartbeat against your ear and his scent. His scent—leather, smoke, and something metallic—was still strong in the air.

And then the tears came, without any warning.

First, silent. Then, accompanied by a trembling breath you couldn’t hold back.

Micah noticed.

His body, which had been relaxed, tensed slightly. He lowered his gaze without moving his head, feeling your chest rise and fall in a more irregular rhythm. The warmth of your breath against him was wetter than before.

You shifted, trying to hide your face even more against his chest.

Micah frowned.

— Tsk. You crying?

You didn’t answer. Your shoulder lifted subtly in a shrinking motion, as if you wanted to hide even more from him. Even you didn’t understand what had come over you.

Maybe it was the fault of the extreme pleasure you had felt.

The silence between you lasted a few seconds. Micah exhaled heavily through his nose, as if trying to make sense of it. His arm, previously resting on the couch, moved slowly to your back. His fingertips brushed your skin first, testing, before finally moving more decisively, stroking you in his rough and clumsy way.

You sniffled, your breath still shaky.

— You in pain?

His voice was lower now, still heavy with exhaustion, but there was something there… curiosity, maybe concern?

You shook your head against him.

— Then what is it?

The question came out dry, direct. But he kept running his hand over your back, his fingers pressing a bit more when they reached your waist and ass, then sliding up again.

— I… don’t know, I think it’s emotional.

Your voice came out muffled against his skin, and it was in that moment that you realized your throat was tight.

Another silence. He didn’t answer immediately. He just kept up that slow, almost thoughtful touch until he let out a short grunt.

— Whiny female.

He scoffed, his tone laced with teasing, but without real malice. You let out a weak laugh, even though your voice was still thick with emotion.

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. His arm around you stayed there, holding you as if accepting that, for some reason, you needed that contact right now.

And, in his way, that was enough for you.

The weight of sleep came quickly and inevitably. Your breathing slowed, and before you even realized it, your body was already sinking into the warmth against his. Micah stayed awake for a while longer, feeling your body go limp. Only when he was sure you were asleep did he pull away from the couch, covering you with blankets, then digging through the pockets of his pants left on the floor for a pack of cigarettes.

When he found it, he got dressed and left while lighting one.

HOURS LATER…

When you opened your eyes, the house was silent. You had slept longer than you should have.

You stretched, feeling your muscles slightly aching and your bones cracking, before sitting on the couch, blinking a few times to shake off the drowsiness of sleep. The metallic and musky smell hung in the air, still carrying traces of what had happened there, and it made your face heat up.

With a sigh, you stood up with your aching legs, gathering up the dirty pillows and your messy pajamas before heading to the laundry room. Then, you took a damp cloth and cleaned the couch patiently, your fingers pressing into the soft leather, erasing marks that only you knew were there.

The shower was quick, but necessary. The hot water ran over your skin, washing away the sweat, blood and cum stuck to your skin, the tiredness saying goodbye, the heat that still seemed to be stuck to you. When you got out of the shower, you felt lighter. You put on clean, comfortable clothes, walked down the hallway, and without thinking, stopped in front of the mirror.

Your reflection stared back at you. You looked… good. Maybe even pretty.

And then, without warning, a name popped into your head.

Micah.

Heat rose to your face. You huffed softly, shaking your head, trying to push away the memory of how he touched you, the sound of his husky laugh still echoing in your ears. But it was no use. Your eyes were already drifting to the back door of the house.

Would he be there?

Curious—or too anxious to admit it—you walked outside.

You walked through the backyard, across the quiet lawn, until you reached the end.

And there it was—the garage.

You stopped at the gate.

Micah was leaning against his bike, an unlit cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, his forearms slick with grease. The red and black motorcycle reflected the dim light of the room, the skull design on the bodywork shining under his fingers. He ran a yellow cloth over the metal with precision, the muscles in his forearms and broad shoulders flexing with each movement.

You stood there, silent, your arms crossed behind your body, your bare feet on the cold floor.

Micah noticed.

“Are you spying on me now?” His voice came low, slurred.

Your heart jumped in your chest.

“Nah.” Your answer came out too quickly to seem natural.

He let out a short sound, half laugh, half grumble, but he didn’t look at you right away.

“Then come here,” he stopped what he was doing as he stretched his legs out on the seat for you. “Or are you running away from me?”

Your hands clenched.

“I’m not… I just…”

There was no excuse.

This time, Micah looked up. The blue of his eyes met yours, direct, full of something you couldn't define.

"Come here, doll."

Your body responded before your head could decide. You hesitated, but took steps forward, stopping next to him. He still seemed tall even sitting down, and before you could react, you felt his firm grip on your waist.

With one easy movement, he pulled you onto his lap.

No comments. No smirks. Just the strength of his hands holding you there. He didn't even stop what he was doing, continuing to polish the bike as if nothing was strange in this scene.

The silence grew between you.

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of how warm he was, of the steady rhythm of his breathing. Your heart stumbled in your chest.

Micah didn't say anything. He just continued his work, his fingers gliding over the metal with the same precision as before.

At the end, he let out a low sound, something between a grunt and a laugh, without even looking at you.

But he knew.

He knew how nervous you were about what happened, but he wasn't going to tease you or scare you away. Not now.

And he was loving it.

List of people’s: @micahsmalevolence-pccw

@coloruin @rom-707 @the-official-memester

@javiers-guitar

[spadefish]

cambion + grymalkin

[stardestroyer81]

So, how about the Thousand Year Door remaster going by the game's Japanese translation, thereby confirming Vivian is canonically a trans woman?

This was such an exciting revelation to me personally that I decided to draw fanart of Vivian repping her trans pride... alongside a certain Koopa I haven't drawn in a little while! 💙🏳️‍⚧️💜

[mango-pudding4u]

Dedicated to @08melancholie for their beautiful fics!! 🚬☕️🥃

[felixwhy]

ive made a couple more misc rdr hcs giggles

john has ZERO sense of fashion. sure, he has some good couple of outfits here n there, but holy BALLS this guy cant dress himself. abigail smacked him for wearing double denim

modern bill is into anime figures w huge honkers and he has an anime body pillow

if ur in a relationship w dutch he would totally be like those guys that are like "where my hug at" either w hugs or kisses

modern dutch does the dad hand. u can not open a bag of gummy worms in the back of his car.

arthur likes to talk shit abt almost everyone in his journal. ESPECIALLY MICAH

ok bye

runs away

[amrass]

These Days finished!

My Morbell threeshot set in the 2010s - and epilogue to my Van der Linde Biker Gang AU - These Days is now complete on Ao3. I'd describe it as abnormally spicy domestic fluff with a main course of rough old man yaoi and a side dish of a crippling fear of death.

Below is a cool doodle my friend @og-doeiika made of this AU, featuring old man Micah and pit bull Baylock. I liked the doodle so much I ended up writing it into part 3 😎🖤

[omgwhatchloe]

STUPID MODERN AU HEADCANONS ALERT

-they all have one hideout they stay at after too many of their apartments kept getting raided. its…its chaotic sometimes.

-bill snores so fucking loud and sleeps on the sofas. he DOES have a bed, he just ‘rests’ his eyes during whatever he’s watching, spreads out and snores like hell. its the most infuriating thing, and arthur does not hold back when beating him with a pillow.

-however if it was lenny or one of the girls who’d fallen asleep on the sofa, lets just say hes sneaking back into the house after late night adventures, and he finds them, arthur would absolutely cover them with a blanket or even carry them to bed depending on how tired he was.

-the men of the gang have differing opinions on drugs, strippers, etc. some will absolutely spend their money on that, others will never even consider it. you gotta remember, this is a gang and theyre criminals.

-movie nights are very random as theyre all constantly in and out, doing this and that, but it is nice when a group of them can settle down and watch something. but you know theyre getting interrupted constantly, because lenny thinks that doesnt make sense and johns hungry and sean thinks theyre hot and tilly cant decide if she wants some of the blanket or not and micah’s just walked in and decided the whole ordeal is very gay etc etc

-STREET RACING. sean, lenny, arthur, john, javier, karen, sadie, even abigail all love it, and it miiiight just be one of hosea’s guilty pleasures.

-leopold strauss does not like dutch’s music. imagine, theyre coming back from a job and he rides with dutch and hosea, who plays ‘old classics’ because dutch thinks thats what theyre into. cut to strauss staring longingly out of the window, watching arthurs car with the roof down and pitbull up. he is a very unhappy old man in that moment. he does NOT WANT to listen to big iron, HE WANTS TIMBER!!

-booktok is lenny’s biggest opp. he likes the classics and to wander around bookshops (sean trailing behind him and picking up random books on weeds and fitness to offer him because he doesnt actually know what theyre about) looking for his own books to read and get his own opinion on.

-sean can read, but does struggle with dyslexia and still dislikes books for this reason. he doesnt mind being read too, but feels overwhelmed and gets upset with himself when actually attempting to read.

-mary-beth loves to watch tv in her room only to fall asleep with it on, causing susan to poke her head around the door and yell at her to turn it off at like 3am. but trust me, the girls seen everything. every dating show, reality show, drama, documentary, she has seen it! she also has teddys/stuffed animals!!

-john never grew out of enjoying sleepovers, but thankfully neither did javier. they’d always get drunk and high together, do dumb shit, snuggle only to deny they did in the morning, and get yelled at to shut up. of course, john’d eventually get to have a sleepover every night with abigail, but he feels like its just not the same…

-charles WILL go to sleep in your car and you cant stop him. arthur finds it cute tho.

-the cupboards do not have snacks because everyone is too possessive over what they want and just keep it in their rooms.

-a lot of the time only a few people are having stew, since the rest are off getting fast food or just not eating.

-sean misses ireland so much, homesickness is a big problem for him (to the point he may actually be sick from upsetting himself so much) and he wishes him and his da never had to leave donegal. though obviously he struggles with booking flights and decides to just not do it instead of asking for help. for a perfect birthday present, lenny booked a trip for them!!

-seans da is not dead!! though he lives quite far from where the gang are staying (different state, not back in ireland) and sean misses him more than he likes to admit. the little irishboy loves to sit in his da’s house with a cup of tea, stealing all the biscuits and yapping on. he used to like to bring lenny too, when they were closer (in distance, not relationship)and his da decided he liked lenny more than sean, joking ofc.

[miguel-owhora]

everyone who says Baylock would be a dog is sooo wrong. Micah doesn't like dogs, man, how do you get that wrong 😭😭😭 just let him be a rat omg

[say-hwaet]

High Sierra: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Previous Chapter Chapter Twelve: Into the Inferno Summary: Arthur and Charles enter the lion's den, ready to face the killer and what he's been planning. Next Chapter: Thirteen

Eliza Bloom steps wearily into her small, cozy house after a long day at work. The weight of exhaustion clings to her like a shroud, making each step feel heavier than the last. She was able to maintain her smile and a quick step when she picked up Isaac, and kept her eyes open as she drove through several intersections, but now that she’s home, it’s all falling away like leaves in autumn. With Isaac gently in her arms, she tries to hold onto her last bit of strength as she uses the heel of her sneaker to close the door behind her. 

Tossing her purse to the floor, she readjusts Isaac in her arms and steps into the living room. 

The room is warm after being drenched in the day’s sun and the temptation to take a nap becomes more overwhelming, but she’s still not done. She can’t feel fully relaxed until she has dinner in the oven and Isaac has had his final treatment for the day. 

Gently, Eliza settles Isaac down on the couch. He’s had a long, fun day with his grandparents and he slept most of the way back. Once his head hits the decorative pillow, he opens his eyes and grimaces. He knows what’s coming. 

"Let me go get your vitamin shots,” Eliza says softly as she rises. 

"Oh, Mom,” the eight-year-old groans. “Do we have to?"

She knows he hates it, and he’s been such a good sport about it until lately. She knows that his father’s absence has something to do with it. Since they’ve been hardly speaking and Arthur has been busier with his job, the game warden hasn’t been around or even stopped by to pick his son up. But Eliza is tired. She struggles to find a reason for him to keep going this time. "Isaac, it is helping you feel so much better. Do you want to quit now?"

Isaac rises as he rubs his eyes, the frown still planted on his face. "Well, no, but I hate the shots."

Eliza sits down next to her son and wipes some dirt from his face. Maybe he had too much fun at Hosea and Bessie's. She chuckles briefly.

What can she do to help motivate him? Something easily done but also exciting. Then it comes to her. She remembers the strange tin box that Arthur had given their son. It had been a peculiar find in the woods, and now it sits on the coffee table, its contents a mystery waiting to be unraveled. How she let it sit there for days is beyond her. Maybe she’s really been that busy. 

She looks back at her son and cards her fingers through his fuzzy hair. "I'll tell you what. We do the shots real quick, and then I will help you open that tin box your daddy gave you."

She notices a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. His excitement is bittersweet, reminding her of the simple joys that are hard to find anymore. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Gosh, does he look like his daddy. "Okay, Mommy."

Eliza returns his smile and pushes her fatigued body off the couch. Going into the linen closet, she retrieves the black bag that they both know all too well. It feels heavier than normal but she turns around and heads back into the living room. Isaac watches her as she sets the bag on the coffee table and eases back onto the couch beside him. As she opens the bag, gets out the kit, and puts on the medical gloves, his body tenses.

“Try to relax, hon,” she says softly. “Would a song help?”

He doesn’t speak, but he nods his head slowly. 

Eliza begins to sing one of his favorites.

I was hangin' 'round town, just spendin' my time Out of a job, not earnin' a dime A feller steps up and he said, "I suppose You're a bronc fighter from looks of your clothes" "you figures me right, I'm a good one" I claim "do you happen to have any bad ones to tame?" Said "he's got one, a bad one to buck At throwin' good riders, he's had lots of luck"

She continues with the song, hitting the notes perfectly in her alto key. Isaac gasps when she injects the needle into the vitamin vile, eyeing the liquid as it fills the syringe. After pushing the air out of it, Eliza pauses her singing. “Okay, you ready?”

Isaac nods. Such a brave kid.  

Eliza continues the song, humming this time, as she pulls back on Isaac’s shorts to expose his thigh just past the knee. Then, pinching up his leg muscle, she quickly inserts the needle. Isaac grimaces but makes no sound. She pushes down on the plunger as quickly as she can manage, then pulls it out. “All done.”

“Bandaid?” Isaac whimpers. 

Of course. After disposing of the needle in the biohazard case, Eliza leans over and picks up a box of assorted band-aids. “Do you want coyotes or the deer ones?”

Isaac thinks it over. “The deer ones.”

Eliza smiles and pulls out a deer-patterned band-aid. “Deer it is, then.” She peels off the backing and then puts the band-aid over the little, red bead that’s bubbled on his skin. She runs a hand over it in a comforting gesture. “There.”

"Mom," Isaac begins, his voice rising in hope, "can we open the box now? Please?"

Eliza's heart aches at her son's plea. With a sigh, she leans from the couch and picks up the tin box, placing it in her lap. “A deal’s a deal.”

Isaac readjusts himself to sit up next to her and leans into her warm body for comfort, still wanting his mama after the ordeal. It is something he will never quite get used to, despite the past couple of years of being pricked and prodded. 

Eliza eyes the lock. “It’s a rotary lock.”

At her words, Isaac’s eyes brighten. “Those ones are easy to get open.”

This surprises Eliza and with a smirk, she looks down at her son, a brow raised. “Since when could you open locks?”

Isaac shrugs. “Daddy taught me. Said I could get out of a scrap that way.”

Eliza isn’t sure how to take that. She knows he was a troubled youth in the system before Bessie and Hosea adopted him, so it’s possible he’s learned a few tricks. He has talked with her about his past, when they’ve laid awake late together at night. They’d talk the hours away until one of them would fall asleep. 

Those were some good times. Good memories. Memories she finds her mind reaching towards, but never fully grasping. 

Isaac reaches out towards the box. “Can I try to open it?”

Eliza blinks, coming out of her reverie, and clears her throat. “Have at it, hon.”

He holds out his hands open-palmed and she places the box in them. With trembling fingers, full of excitement, Isaac brings the box close to his ear. As he listens carefully, he manipulates the rotary lock, the soft clicks filling the air with a sense of anticipation. Finally, the lock gives way, and he lets out a soft gasp. “I did it, Mom!”

"Well! That was quick! Let's see what's inside," Eliza says encouragingly.

Her son nods and carefully lifts the lid, their eyes watching eagerly to see its contents. A small plume of dust comes up and Eliza swats it away. She hopes that wasn’t toxic, but says nothing for fear that it will worry Isaac. 

They eye the first thing that sits in the box. Inside, a folded map, with frayed edges, catches Eliza’s attention. There doesn’t seem to be anything else inside. 

Isaac looks at it, almost disappointed. "This isn't a geocache," he grumbles. “Don’t they have more stuff?”

Yes, they do, but they must be positive. "Well, this map might have something interesting on it,” Eliza offers. “A treasure map?"

Isaac frowns. "Treasure maps are old, Mom. This looks newer than that."

"Not all," she smiles.

Eliza takes the map out of the box and carefully begins to unfold it. It may not be an ancient map, but she still doesn’t want to be careless.

“Careful, Mommy…”

Eliza snorts. “I am, keep your shirt on.”

She can’t blame Isaac for his excitement. Not much doesn’t get him going anymore and it’s becoming contagious. Her heart lurches as it finally comes open and her eyes scan the surface. 

And she recognizes it immediately. It’s a map of High Sierra. 

And it’s distinctly marked. Her breath catches in her throat as she eyes the marked locations. They aren’t just cities or points of interest, they are the same locations where the two bodies had been found. 

And above each marking read the words in red, bold letters:

MEETING

Eliza’s eyes narrow. "What...? What is this box?" Eliza tries to hide the panic in her voice. 

"What's wrong, Mom?"

She shakes her head. Something in the pit of her stomach is telling her this isn’t good. She’s just stepped into something dangerous. What lies in her hands is incriminating evidence. But she can’t let Isaac know. She can’t add more stress and worry into his life. She slowly rises to her feet, folding up the map before Isaac can get a good look at it. "Just...just give me a moment, baby."

Suddenly, her phone vibrates in her pocket. She quickly pulls it out, hoping it is Arthur.

It isn't. It's Edith.

Her heart sinks but still, she answers it. "Hello? Edith?"

"Eliza!" There is fear in the widow’s voice.

"Edith? What's wrong?"

"I remember! I-I-I remember!" Edith hyperventilates.

"Calm down, Edith. Remember what?"

"I remember his name! The man that Thomas spoke to on the phone!"

Eliza's eyes widen and her heart begins to pound in her chest. "Who is it? Tell me...!"

"His name is Micah! Micah Bell! I remember because his name came up on the list of High Sierra's most wanted tonight. They haven't found him yet, and it makes sense now! Thomas was going to go to the police, but he killed him! He killed my husband!"

The realization hits Eliza like a punch in the gut. Whoever was responsible for the killings, the owner of the tin box, and the man Thomas threatened is the same person. He had planned it all as if this is a sick game. Fear claws at her chest. But the fear isn’t for her. 

She has to focus now. She has lives to protect. 

"Edith,” she begins, her voice firm. “You need to call the police. I need to call someone."

Eliza can hear the trembling in Edith’s voice as she speaks. "Eliza, I am scared."

"Don't be. We need to be calm about this. Call the police, and don't leave your house, do you understand?"

"Yes."

Eliza nods, letting her exhale a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. "Okay, I need to go."

"Bye, Eliza."

Eliza quickly hangs up and her fingers shake as she dials Arthur's number.

Isaac, who has been anxiously observing the exchange, gets up from the couch and goes to her, his voice fearful. "Mommy...?"

"It'll be alright, baby. I just need to give your daddy a call, okay? Go to your room and relax for a minute. We can have some popcorn and a movie in a little bit, how does that sound?"

Isaac only nods and walks to his room.

Her phone starts to ring.

And ring. 

And ring. 

She feels a sting in her eyes, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."

But there is no answer.

Panic surges within her, threatening to consume her. Who else can she call? Where can he be reached? 

Then she remembers. He had been working with the fire department. Eliza calls the local number, praying that someone will be able to help.

There is a soft click at the pick-up, and a woman's voice answers the phone. “High Sierra Fire, Lieutenant Adler speaking."

That name. Arthur had mentioned he worked with a firefighter named Sadie Adler. This has to be her!

"Lieutenant Adler? Y-you know my...You know Arthur Morgan?"

There is a short pause on the other line. "...Who is this?"

"This is Eliza Bloom," she stammers, her voice filled with urgency. "I can't get a hold of him. Something has happened, and this was the only place that I could think to call. He said he was helping with controlled burns..."

"Yeah, but we aren't doing those right now. What's wrong with Arthur?"

Eliza tries to keep her voice down, lest her boy hear her trembling voice. "I...I don't know...but he...I think he's been investigating two killings…” She hesitates to share anything. Arthur had asked her not to speak of it to anyone, and she was already risking her neck in talking to Edith and digging into these cases on her own. 

But things are different now. Arthur’s life could be on the line. She swallows as she explains, “Those hunting accidents? They weren't accidents."

From the other end, Eliza suddenly hears a siren blaring. Sadie's voice is muffled as she talks to someone, a sense of urgency lining her words. Then, after a pause, her voice becomes clear again. "Ms. Bloom, I'm sorry, but I have to go. We just got a call about a new forest fire, and I can't ignore it. I'll do what I can to help, but for now, keep your phone on your person. You might need to call the police."

This wasn’t what she was hoping for. If Lieutenant Adler doesn’t know where he is, then she’ll have to call the Department of Fish and Wildlife, but that could get him in serious trouble. 

She doesn’t want to keep Sadie waiting so she lets out a puff of air. "Alright."

"Goodbye."

The line goes dead, leaving Eliza staring at the phone in disbelief. Panic wraps its icy tendrils around her heart as she realizes that help is far from reach. Eliza can’t go to the police yet. Something in her gut is telling her to wait, despite the Lieutenant’s advice. 

Hosea. She needs to call Hosea. She hurriedly searches his name in her contacts, presses “call”, and hears the beating of her heart drum louder than the dial tone.

ring

ring

ring

ring

“Hello, you’ve reached Hosea—”

“—And Bessie…!”

“Haha…! We’re not available at the moment, so if you’ll leave your name and number, we will get back to you as soon as we can.”

“You take care now!”

“Happy trails…!”

Click!

No. This can’t be happening. 

In the silence that engulfs her, Eliza can’t shake off the suffocating dread that hangs in the air. Darkness looms on the horizon, threatening everything she holds dear. Uncertainty grips her, and she can only pray that she will see Arthur again.

She continues the rest of the way into the kitchen and into the dining room, sitting down in a chair, waiting for the unknown. 

She doesn’t want to just sit and do nothing, but the despair hangs heavier than her feet can carry. Deep down in her chest, she can’t help but wonder if the truth they have been seeking was worth the price they might pay.

***

The night is thick with darkness, the moon hiding behind a veil of clouds as Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith venture further into the dense forest. Their footsteps are muffled by the moist earth, their senses heightened as they navigate through the towering trees.

All the while, as his boots make every step, Arthur’s instincts are screaming to go back. This is too much. You’re just a game warden. What can you do?

But he feels something. Something deep in his gut that fights that warning. He was born for this. He is a man against the world, against a place that wants nothing more than to bring him down. People doubted him, and thought little of him, but they will see how wrong they were.  

He won’t admit it, but he wants to be a hero. Someone his son can look up to. He wants to be the very opposite of what Lyle Morgan was and is. 

Charles and Arthur hold their guns, fingers poised on the triggers, prepared for any confrontation. The scent of pine needles fills the air, mingling with the undeniable acrid aroma of smoke. 

Smoke. A fire. 

Arthur and Charles share a knowing look. They’re close.

They keep moving and soon the forest is aglow with an eerie light, casting long shadows that move around them.

Suddenly, a gust of wind carries the sound of crackling flames and the sight of flickering orange light brightens. “This way, Charles…!” Arthur calls loud enough for his partner to hear and, crouching slightly, Arthur takes the lead. 

Their hearts pound in unison as they hasten towards the source. Through the thick foliage, they break free, only to come face to face with a raging inferno. 

They can feel the heat singeing their faces, the smoke stinging their eyes. The flames seem to dance, mocking their presence. The forest that Arthur has known so well, the sanctuary he had once found solace in, is now transformed into a treacherous maze.

And before their very eyes fire grows voraciously, consuming everything in its path.

“We have to go around it!” Arthur calls out to Charles behind him. “No doubt Bell is on the other side!”

“I’m with you, Arthur…!”

The fire isn’t going to slow down, so they have to move fast. “Alright, Charles, stay close…!”

Feeling his muscles charged, Arthur breaks into a steady run. The heat of the flames will become unbearable if he can’t find an opening or a way around it. He keeps his eyes moving, searching through the scorching forest for any sign of escape. 

And there, as though an answer to prayer, a dirt path opens itself for them. The flames lick at its sides but it isn’t blocked. Arthur waves on. “Though here!” And he pushes forward. 

He hears Charles close behind. If anything, they need to stick together. If they are separated, he knows their chances of survival will be slim. 

And then, his worst fears materialize before him. A large tree, blackened by the flames, groans and cracks like gunshots. He looks up to see it falling down fast. With only a second to react, Charles and Arthur jump in opposite directions to get out of the way. The tree makes contact with the earth, shaking the ground and jostling Arthur as he tries to rise to his feet. He’s covered in dirt and ash and coughs as smoke fills his lungs. 

He turns around, only to see the large tree blocking the path, and with his partner not in sight. Panic tightens Arthur's chest as he loses sight of Charles in the inferno. "Charles!" he calls.

He can hear a faint call back, but he can't understand him. “That you, Charles?!”

The voice echoes again. “…Fine…! Go…Arth—-…!” 

Thank God. Charles is alive, but the danger still roars around them. Fear still gnaws at Arthur, his training telling him to never abandon his partner. “Charles!”

“Go…! Get that bastard…!”

He needs to press on. He has to find Michael Barnes—Micah Bell—whoever he is, once and for all.

“I’ll come back for you, Charles!” Arthur calls as he turns around. The path is narrower now, the flames consuming the brush and grass that border the dirty path. The smoke is increasing, and he feels like a Mormon for not bringing his respirator. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he dodges the flames that creep up the grass and leaves of the trees, and he breaks into a hard run. He has to find a way out of this torrent of heat and flames. 

And just as the flames nearly lick his boots, he spots a clearing, a spot where Sadie must have done a controlled burn. The ground is old ash, stumps and large rocks clearly rolled out of harm’s way. He can be safe here for a moment to gather his bearings. He jumps over a burning log and runs for it. He makes it, his heart pounding amidst the chaos.

And then, he feels it. A sharp blow to the back of his head, which causes him to drop his weapon. Groaning, he staggers to his feet and turns to face his attacker. 

Micah Bell. But it isn’t any surprise to the game warden. 

The adversary stands before him, a sinister smirk etched across his face. The glow of the fire surrounding them reflects in his eyes, giving him an otherworldly, evil appearance.

"Couldn't stay away, could you, Morgan?" Micah sneers, his voice dripping with malice. "You can't always play the hero and get to walk away."

Despite seeing stars and coughing from all the smoke, anger surges within Arthur like the wildfire surrounding him. He squares his shoulders and pushes through the pain in the back of his skull, his gaze boring into Micah's soul. "You're a monster, Micah. A coward hidin’ behind aliases and lies. You don’t get to kill people and escape the truth."

Micah chuckles, the sound echoing eerily in the midst of the crackling flames. "Truth? There is no truth, just survival. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to survive."

His words ignite a firestorm of rage within Arthur. Every fiber of his being demanding retribution, demanding answers. “So you admit that you killed Mr. Dowes and Leigh Gray."

Micah's smirk falters for a fraction of a second. "Oh, I thought you already knew that, Morgan. But since we’re both here, I will tell you that those fools were just in my way." Micah walks closer to Arthur, but the game warden steels himself, readying himself for any attack. The sting in his eyes persists but he tries to keep his gaze on the approaching murderer. "I needed this land for more important business, and those fools were...expendable!"

And as expected, Micah takes a swing at Arthur. The game warden attempts to dodge it, but is taken by a bout of coughing and Micah manages to hit him in the gut with a clenched fist. 

Arthur wretches and is forced backward. He takes a few extra steps to gain some distance between himself and Micah so he can try to catch his breath. And one single word is brought to the forefront of his thoughts.

Expendable. 

That’s all people are to Micah Bell. Just things in his way. How evil. How cruel. Even with all the thoughts he’s had of his own father, of those who did him wrong, Arthur has never thought of them as “expendable.” This snake called Micah Bell needs to have his head stomped into the ground. 

Arthur exhales sharply, his strength and resolve returning. “And Captain Monroe?” he dares to ask. “He’s in on it, too.”

Micah lets out a loud cackle. “That walking law book? He’s too busy hiding behind his position to actually see its potential. But that’ll be changing soon once I’ve made him look like the fool that he is. And if you’re the only hope for this godforsaken city…” He opens his arms in a proud gesture. “It’s all been working in my favor.” 

How dare he. Even though the captain is naive, the department would crumble with someone more foolish or corrupt. 

Expendable. 

Godforsaken. 

Not High Sierra. Not his home and all who he cares about. Dutch. Hosea. Bessie. John. Abigail. Jack. Eliza. Isaac. 

With a primal yell, Arthur lunges at Micah, and just as he nears him, Micah reaches out to grab him.

But with his strong build and tall stature, Arthur overpowers Micah and pushes him to the ground. He pins him with one hand to his neck and lands two punches in the rat’s smug face. The vermin’s bloodied nose sends adrenaline into Arthur’s system and his desire to finish this only becomes stronger. He had decided to let this fool have his day in court, but it seems more appealing to let him die here. 

He’s felt this rush before, when he used to get into fights at the orphanage and in foster homes. He was threatened with aging out of the system someday, and other boys thought he’d be an easy target. 

But if he learned anything from his old man, it was to fight. And fight he did. And he loved it. He loved seeing his bullies squirm and beg for mercy. 

Then it became anyone who upset him. It took years of love and guidance to learn to do more than speak with his fists. But that instinctual drive has never left him. 

Just as Arthur raises his fist to swing down again, Micah reaches into the earth, grabs a fistful of ash, and throws it in Arthur's face. 

“Ahh…!” Arthur roars and as his grip lessens, Micah kicks him in the groin. Arthur coughs as he rolls away, wiping the ash from his eyes.

Get up, Arthur! Get up! 

He pushes through his pain and rises to his feet, stepping further from where he had grappled Micah to the ground. As he regains his sight, he sees the snake coming at him but meets him head-on.

The two men clash with a loud thud, and the fierce battle of good versus evil begins. , their punches landing with a sickening thud. Each blow encapsulated the years of distrust and enmity between them. As he dodges a swing from Micah, he reaches for his neck and throws him backward. Micah loses his balance but soon gathers his footing and prowls back towards Arthur. 

Like two animals, they take their stances and circle each other. Sweat streams down Arthur's face, and his muscles ache, but his will to fight is an unyielding determination. He lunges without warning, and punches Micah in the face. There is an audible crunch and Micah reels backward, falling hard to the ground.

In the midst of the brutal struggle, the dense smoke has risen, twirling and twining around them. Its toxic tendrils encase them both, suffocating the air from their lungs. 

And just as Arthur begins to think this will soon be over, darkness descends upon him with a relentless grip, threatening to claim him. He feels weak and starts to cough again. He looks up from his bent-over position to see Micah slowly rising to his feet, still willing to fight. Arthur feels his heart sink. He is about to fail.

Hatred burns in Micah's gaze, a twisted smirk curling his lips despite the blood cascading out of his now broken nose. "You're too late, Morgan," he cackles between heaving breaths. "The fire will cleanse this place, erase all traces of our sins." Micah lets out a hiss-like laugh and after finding a thick branch, stalks toward Arthur as he remains bent over and coughs heavily. He can’t seem to catch his breath, his throat burns. How is Micah still fine? What evil possesses him?

I can't die here, he thinks as he casts his head down for a minute. Not today.

He feels Micah drawing closer. 

He hears his son’s voice suddenly in his mind.

We’re partners, Daddy! You and me! ‘Cause I’m gonna be a hero just like you!

Then a softness appears in his memory, a warmth that he instantly recognizes. 

I love you, Arthur. That’s the only truth I know.

With a surge of strength and fury that was almost lost, he lunges at Micah and pins him to the ground once more. He administers several blows to Micah's head and quickly wraps his fingers around Micah's throat. Micah tries to kick at him, but his efforts are futile. He squeezes tightly until Micah passes out.

Not detecting any movement, Arthur gets up slowly, gasping. Even as victory is now in his grasp, the encroaching smoke steals his consciousness.

***

“Keep at it, boys!” Sadie Adler calls out to her team of hotshots. She turns to see Charles frantically looking around as he’s carried away on a gurney. She has seen panic before. In men and women who have lost a loved one during a fire. In her men when the flames have grown too large. Even in the toughest of people, when they’ve misplaced someone of dear importance to them, the look is always the same. 

After hearing the call from a rancher that he could see smoke in forestry lands beyond his property, Sadie Adler led a team of hotshots to the location, to discover one of the largest forest fires they’ve encountered this year. Not letting its intimidating glow deter her, she led her men through the flames as they fought to put the fire out. Through the chaos, their determination unwavering, they navigated the labyrinth of flames, their protective gear a shield against the inferno. That is when they spotted Charles, face smeared with ash and coughing incessantly. 

They immediately set out to get him oxygen, which he initially refused. But Sadie isn’t easily dissuaded from any task. Using her authoritative position, she ordered Charles to take the oxygen and tell her what happened.

When he told her, she then realized that Eliza was right. Arthur was in grave danger.

She holds out a hand to stop the two men that are carrying him out. “Hold on, boys.” Though she rarely ever offers consolation, she reaches toward him and places her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find him, Charles,” she says calmly. and watches him nod once. “You said you and Arthur got separated just ahead?”

Charles speaks as clearly as he can between soft coughs. “find a large, fallen pine tree.” Charles points westward. “It was that way. He kept heading west into the flames.”

She nods and then waves the two men on. After a moment, she turns to the remaining three men with her. “Let’s go. Keep close. We’re looking for a large pine tree.”

One of the hotshots looks disgruntled. “Isn’t this a pine forest?”

Sadie scowls. “You’re lucky I need your sorry hide, otherwise I’d leave you here to mull over your smart remarks. Now, focus up and keep your eyes peeled.”

The team follows Sadie’s lead, their pace quickening against the roar of the engulfing flames. The ground beneath them crackles with every step they take, a symphony of fire that threatens to consume them.

She remains vigilant, Charles wouldn’t have described the tree if it wasn’t significant. Something must stand out about it, something to grab the eyes. This fire isn’t like anything she’s seen before.

“Lieutenant!” a hotshot, large and boarish, calls out to her. “Here!”

She hurries to her left, and there lies the remnants of a fallen tree, its body blackened and cavernous from the flame’s consumption.

This has to be it. “Good work, Williamson, we’re close!” Sadie shouts and begins to run further westward. “This way!”

The deafening sound of splintering trees filled the air as they crashed to the ground around them. Despite the terror and uncertainty gripping the hearts of her men, Sadie remained resolute in her mission to reach her target.

“Maybe we should head back…!” the youngest hotshot cries out.

She looks back and flashes a look hotter than the flames surrounding them. “Not on your life, we aren’t! Come on…!”

Arthur can’t be far now. Every instinct Sadie has is screaming that he is within their reach, just beyond the thick smoke and rising embers that dance around them like malevolent spirits.

The air is acrid, burning their throats with each breath they take, but Sadie pushes forward relentlessly. Each step feels both eternal and fleeting as they penetrate deeper into the heart of the inferno. The world around them is a blur of orange and black, punctuated by the sharp cracks of fire consuming wood.

As thick smoke billows all around, obscuring their view, Sadie's sharp eyes finally catch sight of Arthur's motionless figure on the ground, in the center of what’s left of a safe patch of ash.

And beside him is a man she’s never seen before. Regardless of who he is and how he got here, she needs to get them both to the hospital. She only hopes that she isn’t too late.

“We need to hurry!” With unwavering resolve, she rushes to Arthur’s side, the flames licking at her heels. The heat is unbearable and oppressive, but she refuses to surrender.

Arthur's consciousness flickers like the flames around him; reality seems to blur in and out. As Sadie approaches, he can barely make out her figure through his smoke-stung eyes. She kneels beside him, her voice a soothing but urgent whisper amidst the chaos.

"Arthur! Can you hear me?" she calls, but he is too weak to answer, even if he is able to understand her.

With adrenaline-fueled determination, Sadie and her team work to pull Arthur and the maimed stranger to safety. The heat from the flames threatens to consume them, but they push forward with unwavering strength. Each step feels like a battle won against the fiery inferno that rages around them, and they refuse to give up until their mission is complete.

It is hard work carrying two, full-grown men through a maze of debris and flames, but Sadie encourages her men with barks and tough love.

Despite the danger and chaos, Sadie can’t help but feel a sense of triumph as they emerge victorious from the flames, their resilience and bravery shining through in the face of disaster.

She only considers it safe when her team meets up with the two men that carried Charles out and pulls out her handheld radio. “This is LT-K247. We need a chopper at the edge of Redemption Cavern. We got three needing immediate transportation to the hospital.” After hearing confirmation, she tucks her radio away and turns to her men. “Good work, boys, but we ain’t done yet.”

As they wait for the helicopter, Arthur struggles between consciousness and delirium, his eyes occasionally fluttering open to catch glimpses of Sadie's concerned face hovering above him. Her expression is stern, yet there's a softness in her eyes that belies her tough exterior.

"Stay with me, Arthur," she murmurs in the way she does best. “We’re almost there.”

It is nearly fifteen minutes before the helicopter arrives.

The rotors disrupt the smoky air, stirring up ash and debris as it touches down. Sadie, still hovering like a protective guardian over Arthur, helps to secure him onto the stretcher. Her hands are steady despite the turmoil, her focus unyielding. The medics work quickly, efficiency honed by urgency, but Arthur, Charles, and Micah are loaded into the aircraft.

Sadie turns to her men. “The rest of you make sure that this fire goes out. I’ll be sending more to join you. Williamson, you’re in charge now, don’t go in there without backup.”

They nod and feeling confident in her order, she jumps in the helicopter, sitting directly beside Arthur's stretcher. As the helicopter lifts off, the ground below them becomes a chaotic blend of smoke and lights, but Sadie's attention is fixed firmly on Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes flick open again, pain and confusion warping his features. He tries to speak, his voice a raspy whisper barely audible.

“Don’t speak, Arthur,” Sadie says as she holds him steady once the helicopter lifts and escapes the flames.

With a swift and anxious glance behind her, she catches sight of the raging inferno. The flames dance wildly, fueled by something more than just natural kindling. It had to have been ignited with gasoline, or some other highly flammable substance. She knows she needs to act fast to get it under control, but her priority is making sure these injured men make it to the hospital alive. The heat from the fire prickles at her skin and the acrid smell of smoke, even from this height, fills her nostrils. She will get to the bottom of this, and touch base with the fire chief. But for now, her task is simple.

"Is Arthur alright?" Charles asks weakly, coughing aggressively.

Sadie looks him over and sees Arthur take a breath. As long as there’s breath, there is hope and she feels her voice become filled with resolve. "You're safe now, Arthur. You're safe. I'll get you back to her, I promise."

Tag Requests: @cassietrn @photo1030

Thank you for reading!

[moonmeg]

Someone on Instagram asked me if Robyn or Micah would have tattoos in a modern setting.

The answer is that Robyn could imagine getting a small tattoo but is too much of a scaredycat to actually get it done* (same with any form of piercings) and Micah would totes get a full on sleeve tattoo the moment he's 18 😗✌️

*who knows,, maybe he does get the courage to get one at one point